Muggles Call it Fate
by Serpentius
Summary: Do you believe in fate? Well you are in the magic world so you should. Anything could happen and I mean anything. And, Where do Veela babies come from anyways? FleurHermione eventually.DISCONTINUED.
1. Chapter 1

**Muggles call it Fate.**

Fleur was never shy about asking questions. Any question. If you asked you are more likely to receive what you desired, for if you opened your mouth and simply asked. People could carry out your wishes; no one was going to guess what you want all day long. And for Fleur, whatever she asked, she got, from anyone. Well, almost anyone. For instance, she remember the time when she was about ten, she asked her mother Apolline a rather simple question at the Delacour's annual family gathering.

Fleur sat in the finely crafted velvet armchair overlooking the vast ballroom. Her back straight and her clear eyes sparkled with the essence of light itself. Compared to her eyes the diamond chandelier that adorned the outstretched ceilings of the family's manor was in fact, cheap. A vivid smile painted on Fleur's face greeted her distant relatives and other guests. For the ten year old, she was taught that manners mattered. And to receive the privilege and respect a pureblooded wizard deserved, one must first act like a respectable person.

So she sat there gracefully, glowing in the dazzling moment. She did not move, even if her back had ached, she simply smiled.

She remembered being admired and appraised by her guests.

"My! Isn't she lovely," Said one of her guests. She couldn't tell who had said it, for there were too many people in the vast ballroom, and besides the bent light of the chandelier illuminated the whole room with the side effects of being rather blinding. Fleur's normally moist eyes were now sheathed with a layer of pre-mature tears.

"Not only beauty but I've heard her parents' are sending her to Beauxbatons."

"Oh my, the most prestigious wizarding school in all of France,"

"It's the blood in the veins, and Apolline looks like she hasn't aged one bit. And her daughter has grown up looking just as striking as her mother." appraised another. "Must be the Veela blood," came the jealousy drenched whisper at the end of her sentence.

"Better lock the doors at night, or suitors will rush right in," Replied the first.

"Heheh, not if they knock down the door first."

While all these appraisals were entertaining for Fleur's mother, who pretended it was nothing and shrugged them off with modesty, the girl herself, Fleur was feeling rather concerned with the question in mind. Even with the party going on, her mind was rather blanked out in her own little world. This question had floated in her head for a few days now, and she did try to figure it out on her own. But there is only so much a ten year old could do. Sure she could've searched in her Father's vast library but she didn't know where to look exactly and the library was, in her father's own words. "Off limits," until she had come of age to explore the extended contents of his collections, and the book shelf in her room was filled with books that provided no answers. She had even tried to ask the house elves but they all shrugged off with a certain peculiarity in their tone. So here she was, thinking, who will gift her with a satisfactory answer.

And her mother, well. Apolline was rather busy hosting the party and taking care of her new born sister Gabrielle, who was now sleeping soundly in the nursery. And that was what puzzled Fleur in the first place.

"Mother, where do baby Veelas come from?" She asked Apolline while tugging at her mother's dress for some desperately needed maternal attention.

Apolline smiled at the person she was talking to gracefully and covered up for her embarrassment with a, "Kids you know how they are, more wine?" she insisted to her guest. Who surprisingly followed her lead and nodded. Apolline called the house elf to pour generously for her guest, while she turned to Fleur, who was still standing there staring at her mother, searching for an answer. Apolline tried not to look annoyed, but her features were telling the direct opposites.

"Fleur, what did mommy tell you to do, when you see mommy is busy entertaining a guest?"

Fleur noticed the tone of her mother's voice and looked down. "Don't interrupt unless you have something nice to say, if not go read a book..." She replied in a meek voice.

"Go read then."

"But Mother I've finished all the books you and Father bought me." Fleur dared to say with pride this time. Fleur looked at her mother with intense sincerity. "And I don't want to play with dolls… they are so boring, they don't move unless I tell them to. I want someone I can talk to…"

"The whole shelf?!" Apolline sounded appalled. But relaxed her features and calmed down as she remembered her social situation. She looked to the side tables were currently occupied with stocks of wrapped gifts. "Aha," Apolline said as she took out her wand and casted a spell. A wrapped gift box flew to her like an owl to its owner.

"There," She handed Fleur the gift box and immediately shifted her attention back on her guests.

Fleur trusted her mother's judgements or intuitions, or whatever it was, more than ever. That was partly why she was now up in her cosy Grande bedroom. She sat on her bed as she impatiently scratched off the wraps around the book. After layers of multicoloured paper, she found her self staring at an enchanted book. However to her dismay, the book had no titles at all. It was simply a thick book with a gold plating cover that bounded the hundreds of pages together with a locking belt. It appeared mysteriously ancient and weighed rather heavy too.

But as amusing as this book's cover was, it wasn't thrilling enough to tame the girl's hunger for excitement.

Fleur turned the heavy book on the side and flipped to the first page of the book hoping to find a table of content of all the stories it promised. There had to be one, the book is at least five hundred of pages. If there wasn't at least an introduction how was anyone supposed navigate this? But the first page was blank. Fleur flipped to the second then the third page.

All blank.

"What is this?!"

All blank.

Infuriated, Fleur kicked the heavy book onto the floor.

Thump…

"Humph," stared at her ceiling. The spirals of the ceiling mimicked that of the sky she could see the distant stars twinkling at her. It calmed Fleur to the point of falling half asleep.

She sighed.

She had hoped the book would entertain her, take her on a peculiar adventure deep into the forest of magic. Or simply entertain her to make her happy. Was that too much to ask? She felt rather sad for herself; she could still hear endless laughter and chattering in the ballroom below. It was a funny feeling. The loneliness she felt when she was in a group of people that adored her like a precious gem. All those people were spectators, she felt like a ballerina on an empty stage. While all looked and voiced their appreciations, none had actually taken the time to known how she felt inside.

Her mother had too tried introducing Fleur to people her own age. But all her previous friendships had been at the conveniences of her parents. All of her friends were of pureblooded heritage, of good families. Friendships only were only meant to cement ties, nothing more. In return, Fleur's parents enjoyed themselves with the luxury of Apparating to somewhere exotic while she was left at home with a supposed friend and of course the nanny, who made sure the kids didn't set the mansion on fire, literally.

But from what Fleur had observed, the girls indulge themselves in dolls, and tales were a prince would come and take the princess away to his castle and they would marry and live happily ever after. Those stories made Fleur yawn, it always ended the same way. Just thinking about it made her sleepy.

She closed her eyes and wished for a friend, perhaps even a prince, someone who could release her from her world of ennui.

Thump…

"Eh?"

She turned her head and saw the book that now lay on the floor was flipped open again, to the very first page. Interested, Fleur hopped down from her bed, and watched the pages before her glow with a golden radiance. The milky white pages seemed to be hiding something beneath its now liquid like surface. She brushed her fingers over the pages, and found herself looking at the sky then the clouds. Finally the clouds parted as the page cleared up.

Fleur wasn't really sure what she was seeing now, but it was square and the fading red paint chipped at the bottom, and was roughly covered up with some cheap curtains. A thick layer of wool carpet was on the floor beside the crackling fireplace. It looked like that of a living room. No it couldn't be, the room was far too small, how can it accommodate a person in her position? Then she remembered what her mother had told her, not all are fortunate to have what they, the Delacour's possessed so be careful of who you trust.

She stared intently at the page waiting for something to happen. To her dismay, the book failed to surprise her. The view extended on the room and drifted from one corner of the room to another. Fleur was about to give up and close the book once and for all before a girl ran into the living room with a book, thinner than the one she was reading. Nevertheless when the girl plopped down before the fireplace, a familiar 'Thump' sound was heard as the Muggle girl's book made contact with the floor.

Fleur wasn't sure who this girl was or how she got there. But she was familiar with the property of magic and enchanted items. Sometimes they can make you see things in the past and in the future, sometimes in the present or an illusion. Various entertaining things magic can do.

Illusion or not, Fleur soon found herself amused by the girl. This girl was so different from her, in every aspect. The girl in the projection was a muggle, or at least born a muggle, Fleur was sure; because she had never knew of a wizarding family that would allow their children to dress so silly.

"Where are your robes? Silly girl…" Fleur found herself thinking with a hint of arrogance.

Then there is the untamed chocolate brown hair of hers, bushy and unconfined, compared to Fleur's perfect silver hair which was now held up in a loose bun. It made her look like a wild duckling. But, she was not ugly from what Fleur could tell, just different from the typical high class French girls Fleur saw day in day out. And the way she was hunching as she read her book; her mind totally absorbed in it was rather, unlady like…cute.

Fleur sighed and wished there was a way to talk to the amusing muggle girl in the projection. She thought as another person came into the projected images.

An apron wearing woman entered, Fleur would normally assume her to be the maid, but she looked like the girl's mother.

"What are you reading?" The woman asked in a language foreign to Fleur, but surprisingly it seemed the book translated for her so it felt like the woman was speaking in fluent French.

"A fairy tale book," Her daughter answered.

Fairy tale…how nice, Fleur thought, even though she lived in a fairy tale like mansion herself. She did not believe in fairy tales. They were worse than the prince and princess stories, merely lies told by her mother to put her to sleep. In fact she had the slightest loath towards stories that can never come true. Because an ugly duckling can't turn into a swan, a swan was born beautiful.

That turned her attention back to the Muggle girl. Yes. She was born Muggle, so there was no way she could be a witch. Pity…

"Well Hermione it's dinner time." The mother told her softly as she gently took Hermione by the hand and started to drag her away from her reading.

"But Mum I was just at the most exciting part! I want to know what happened to the Veela girl! She was so lonely in her castle; I want to know if her prince ever came."

The mentioning of Veela sparked up Fleur's interest. What exactly was this girl reading?

"Come on Hermione," said the girl's mother as she walked into the kitchen to take off her apron.

"But, at the end the Veela girl…"

"Well the ending isn't going to change if you eat dinner now is it." Hermione's mother dragged her daughter away, but the girl protested by stubbornly hanging onto the book.

"Nooo… Don't drag her away you muggle woman!" Fleur stressed over in her mind.

Clattering sounds of forks and spoons could be heard, followed by the voices of three people chattering away as they ate their supper.

"Mummy,"

"Yes Darling?"

"Where do Veela babies come from?"

"I would like to know too!" Thought Fleur, "Wait…did she just asked the same question as I?"

Fleur was shocked but she listened, hoping to find the answer.

"Just a book honey, whatever you said V…whatever doesn't exist." A male voice chuckled, utterly dismissing the idea.

"Hey! We do too exist! You dumb muggle!" Fleur yelled into the book. Then clasped her hands over her mouth, she shouldn't have done that. But with any luck, these are just normal people and they couldn't have heard her.

A few seconds later the girl spoke up again.

"WOW!"

"What Hermione?" The male voice asked.

"The book just spoke to me!"

"Silly girl, books don't talk, and neither do they speak to little girls. Hermione you are reading too much into it dear. Magic only happens in fairy tales," The mother replied.

"But it did!! It told me something I couldn't understand…I think it said something in a magical form of French."

Silence.

Before the room with filled with outrageously loud laughter,

The book before Fleur snapped shut, as a light sent Fleur flying; luckily she landed on the softest part of her bed.

Fading laughter could be heard then nothing more.

The book then faded back into its original colours. "Noo! What's wrong with you?" Fleur shook the book, but it did not respond. Something had interrupted the magic, maybe a hex or a protection spell of some sort.

"'Ermione." She whispered onto cover of the book.

Soon there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?"

"Fleur, there you are." Lord Delacour stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the room for something. "Aha!" He said as his eyes fell on the book. "Good thing I found it before anyone could read it. Your mother told me she gave you this book by mistake," Her father looked at her suspiciously.

"I trust nothing was inside?"

"Nope." Fleur replied as the elder Delacour walked out with the book in hand. She wondered what the book was really about and what it did. But then again it was no use now. Her father will probably lock the book up in his secretive collections. She sighed and crawled under her enchanted comforters.

"'Ermione, where are you?" Fleur whispered.

Hoping in dream that the girl had heard her and replied somehow…

Yet little did Fleur know somewhere not that far across the English Channel a girl of seven heard her name called out from a fairy tale book. And to make things only weirder, her name was spoken out in exquisite French.

Seven years has passed and things haven't really changed much at all. Except now Fleur was no longer that girl who waited up beside a book for her imaginary friend to show up and amuse her. Age had carved her into an elegantly poised young woman with burning ambitions for success. She didn't care much for those who had fallen to her charms, it was simply their fault. And as for her, Fleur Delacour, whatever she wanted. She got.

It was that simple.

However, even after those years she never really got an answer for that embarrassing question she asked her mother at the party. She had learned the question she had asked is of a rather embarrassing matter. For… it was rather a delicate topic to discuss and…

The question just hung there never quite answered.

Fleur pushed that thought away. She could not think of the matters now and get carried away before such an important event. The Triwizard tournament was on hand could be the most important thing of her life.

She had better things to do now; she was now the pride and joy of the Beauxbatons academy of magic. Everyone looked up to her, even the headmistress herself trusted Fleur enough to let her represent the academy in the TriWizard Tournament.

But somethings never change.

"I'm sure you'll out do all your competitions." The headmistress gave her a reassuring smile.

"It's not that…" Fleur replied, something about this tournament feels odd, but in a good way.

"What is wrong? Tell me Fleur, are you unwell?"

"No, I'm fine it's just I'm a bit nervous about the tournament that's all." Fleur pin pointed. Still that doesn't seem to be it.

"Where exactly is this school…er, Hogwarts anyways?"

"Hogwarts, a Wizarding school located in Britain," replied Olympe Maxime.

"Do they have a large library?"

"Indeed, they have the large collection of magical books, even a restricted section too," the half giant paused, "But nothing like our prestigious Beauxbatons you know. They have the worse fashion sense ever, who would've thought mixing all those ridiculous colours together, what are they? Rainbows? It is terrible…" Her headmistress rambled on; over zealous about everything at Beauxtons was better than Hogwarts.

Fleur nodded as another question was answered, and that was all she needed to know for now. She looked outside the tinted windows of the carriage as sunbathed clouds parted before her way. Fleur had an unexplainable pleasant feeling about this trip. She knew no more than that, something deep from within warmed her and told her something incomprehensible at the moment. A faint smile appeared on her lips as the carriage guided her closer to whatever _fate _had to offer


	2. Chapter 2

**Muggles call it Fate.**

"Headmistress Maxime was right; this place is an utter disaster." Fleur reflected out of disgust in her mother tongue.

It wasn't that the guest rooms didn't have finer accommodations or fluffier quilts and pillows. Fleur was used to boarding schools. She did attend Beauxbatons after all. And as much as Madame Maxime liked to brag about Beauxbatons' everything from the broad interior designs and decorations, to the minimum details of elaborate needle works on their fairy like pale blue uniforms. What was there is there for all to see, and as much as Fleur respected Madame Maxime, Beauxbatons had its strength and weaknesses too. Just like anything else in the world.

However, comparatively Fleur concluded. Madame Maxime's general statement about superiority of Beauxbatons has been proven true. And her fellow students agreed with Fleur by choosing to stay in their palominos drawn carriage.

It was rather the overall structure and the vibe Hogwarts emitted made her rather uncomfortable. An eerily damp castle that lacked vital fireplaces; what is it with the dim lighting in the Great Hall; must it feel like a funeral march every time I walk in there? Can't they afford more candles? Hogwarts was at least three times bigger than Beauxbatons but everything was so spread out and hostilely cold. Certain rooms are kept so secretive that no one knows about them. And no one had warned Fleur that certain segment of stairs move at their own will.

She flinched as she saw the ghost of the Grey lady chased by the Bloody Baron. The two spirits flew past her speedily with an unexpected swoosh the two disappeared into the other side of the wall. Ghosts that roamed freely are another unpleasant addition to the overall condition of Hogwarts, she added to her mental list of stuff that had bothered her as she descended down the staircases from the dorms.

Fleur gracefully made her way into the Great Hall. Ignoring the constant stares from the male population, she found her fellow Beauxbatons students sitting at the Ravenclaw table chatting away with other Ravenclaw students over breakfast. She had a slight panic after not seeing her baby Sister Gabrielle sitting with them. Where did she run off to this time? Her eyes quickly scanned the other tables and saw her sister was conversing with a red-haired girl from the Gryffindor table.

Gabrielle was sure a strange one, always doing something out of her spontaneous will or whatever that had come mind in the heat of the moment. If people wanted her to be one way, she would bend the other. But it cannot be helped. She was spoiled to the bones by her parents, being the youngest of the Delacour's; Gabrielle held a special privilege in the family, sometimes even more so than Fleur. Either way, being Gabrielle's older sister she tried her best to keep Gabrielle out of trouble.

In this case, Fleur sent Gabrielle the 'authoritative' big sister look, and Gabrielle skipped back to the Ravenclaw table grinning. Her parents had especially told her to keep an eye on Gabrielle whose curious and eccentric nature had caused problems in the past. Technically, it should be Madame Maxime's job but since Fleur was her sister…It was her job assigned by nature.

"Hogwarts is not Beauxbatons, be careful where you wander to," Fleur preached in French.

"But Fleur, I was just making friends, besides I'm a big girl now." Gabrielle replied elfishly. "Besides, Ginny is niceeee!" She turned her head at Ginny with a megawatt smile.

"Alright, alright, just try to keep your head out of trouble, okay?"

"You know you can _trust_ me," Gabrielle replied.

Fleur didn't like the tone in which Gabrielle delivered the line. It was always like this, Gabrielle would do the best in her 'abilities', but at the end. Something…would happen. But what could she do? Tie her sister up?

She nodded and patted her sister.

During the course of breakfast, Fleur noticed a note stuffed loosely in Gabrielle's pockets. She was about to ask but Gabrielle announced that she was finished with breakfast and ran off, out of the Great Hall.

Fleur eyed the fading figure of her sister… Something told her Gabrielle was up to something; soon she excused herself and followed after her sister. But as soon as the elfish little girl ran through a few corridors Fleur lost her.

Not sure where her sister is off to. She decided to wander around the school, if she was lucky, Gabrielle would be safe and she would find her like she always did.

As she walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, Fleur noticed a few more things about the British Wizarding School and its general student population. Students only conversed with those wearing the same coloured robes with the same coloured crest on their chest. It seemed that Hogwarts itself was divided into four sub-sectional schools. The students themselves formed groups and cliques. Teachers encouraged this by sorting them into houses of their own. Unbelievable! Where is the unity of anything in there? People were dispersed like autumn leaves blowing in the wind. If she could rate Hogwarts on the O.W.L test scale, Hogwarts is far below acceptable; it was on the boarder between dreadful and troll.

So far she has glided around Hogwarts aimlessly, through the corridor, she was now outside. She looked upon the sky as the sun hid itself shyly behind the clouds. Not sure if this had been the way Gabrielle has taken, she continued on anyways. The worst thing that could happen was getting lost, but that wasn't that bad. She could just ask her way, considering the amount of people that sneakily trailed behind her. She laughed inwardly; she could sense them without even looking. The sounds of gasping and the occasional sounds of careless avoidance of the crisp dry leaves on the ground could be heard by Fleur's sensitive ears.

She wasn't quite sure what was worse, getting lost or getting trampled over by the male population that followed _at most_ three feet behind. She peered out from the corner of her eye, and saw the multicoloured scarves blowing in the soft breeze. More gasping sounds could be heard, but she could tell her little gesture had alarmed at least half of them.

Silently thinking what to do, she dismissed the thought of turning around and confronting those drooling boys. It was a waste of her time. She remembered a time when boys were intelligent creatures, who gladly played with her just like any other girls would. But something changed as soon as she returned to Beauxbatons from the summer after her 13th birthday. At first she thought someone had exchanged the boys with foolish mountain trolls. But then again, what is the purpose in that?

Only if this was Beauxbatons, then life would've been so much easier, well at least the food was more delicious and the guys stared less. Surely they were all beasts disguised as gentlemen, but still it was more pleasant to look at a gentleman than a hairy beast… But then again her mother had explained her lineage had something to do with it, but nothing more than that. Many thought she must be thrilled to have her Veela charms. But how was she ever going to find a husband if they can't even make it through the first date with a nice conversation?

She pondered about her past experiences with boys. It always ended in a way she hated. The boys would courteously take her out to a nice restaurant, and she would watch the boy drool for the remainder of the night. And at the end, if the particular individual had the nerves, he would try to kiss Fleur. Some even had tried to gone further than a gentle good night kiss, but Fleur never allowed that. She wasn't the girl they thought she was. Besides, all the boys she went out with never truly captured her heart. They had all been handsome, but there was no passion, not even by a flicker, or at least she hadn't felt any.

Life is full of contradictions and surprises.

She slowed her pace then halted in the garden. This is possibly the most she'll get out of her supposed sight seeing at Hogwarts. It looked, at least presentable. The reddening of the yellow leaves added an illusion of warmth to the scenery. The leaves themselves looked intensely gentle with the oiled exterior of ripe fruits. If leaves of fire had danced before her, the wind fuelled the leaves with enough strength orchestrating a rustling melody.

"Maybe it isn't all that bad here after all…"

She looked peeked over her shoulder again, and noticed the groups of onlookers have returned to their classes. "Finally, one thing less to worry about," Fleur thought,

She found herself alone in the garden, watching autumn leaves tangoing with the breeze to the tunes of nature. A mirage of tender emotions filled the leaves and the wind. It was as if the wind and leaves were lovers, each supported one another. Each different breeze told a different story of parting and longings. The wind gave the leaves the momentum to be free whereas the leaves gave wind the structure it needed to be seen by the naked eye.

They completed each other.

"Zis, iz rather romantic," Fleur found herself say

…

Just as she was about to crack her first smile at Hogwarts,

Out of nowhere

A sudden violent gust of fallen autumn leaves flew up and blew towards her like thousands of tiny dagger blades, interrupting her thoughts. Her reflex kicked in as she ducked the incoming blow, but the crisp leaves came with enough force and slice through a strand of hair that has managed fallen loose from her light blue uniform cap. Fleur was muted by shock. She looked over her shoulder in horror as the strand swirled and flew out almost playfully with the leaves. A ghastly pale look on her face as she saw the result of the sudden wind assault, the silk like silver strand landed on the stone ground soft like feathers.

"Mon dieu, zis iz 'orrible! Murderous leaves!" Fleur screamed.

Fleur frowned at the sight before her eyes. If this had happened to her years ago, she would have cried her eyes out. Sure, she could make anyone fall in love with her with her supernatural charms. Still, she was a girl and appearance was important to her. Sure she was 1/4 of a Veela but bodily insecurities still rose from the unpardonable 3/4 human lineage. To make things more stressful Fleur represented Beauxbatons, literally as the flower of the school. So naturally she needed to look her best in any situation.

She examined the scene thoroughly, this was no accident. She told herself. By the way the wind blew and the speed it was at. Someone had done this, using magic.

This Hogwarts place is cursed. Fleur thought about telling Madame Maxime and return to Beauxbatons right away. There was no way she was going to perform well, or even survive if these sorts of things keep on happening out of nowhere. It was all was against her. Then she dismissed the foolish idea all together. That was no action of a champion, they did not run. They faced whatever challenges they were presented with.

She looked down at the unfortunate strand of her hair, and clinched her jaw. An awful habit of Fleur's that only her mother knew about.

Fleur clicked her heels and stormed off, only to bump into something woolly and soft.

A quick, "I'm sorry" came from the apparent person Fleur bumped into.

"At least this one had some manners," Fleur thought.

She examined the person that was now walking away from her. The girl had messy, most likely uncombed bushy brown hair that hid most of her Gryffindor scarf inside. It was terrible enough that it resembled a male lion's mane. She was in need of some serious beautification charms, Fleur noted as her eyes quickly the girl in sweaters, grey skirt and simple black robes.

Then Fleur saw it, the readied wand in the girl's hands.

Without any hesitation she grabbed the girl by the wrist and pulled her around forcefully.

The girl looked up with her chocolate brown eyes in confusion.

"Did you do zat?" Fleur pointed to the pool of leaves on the stone ground.

The gazed had said it all.

"I don't suppose there is a rule using magic on fallen leaves," The girl replied uncaringly, not even making eye contact with Fleur, which further confirmed the identity of her attacker.

Fleur tried to hold her anger back but the uncaring and utterly insincere apology was ticking her off.

"But look vat you 'ave done!" Fleur pointed to the strand of hair resting on top of the pile of dry leaves. "If I 'and't gotten away in time, I vould be dead! My neck would've been …" Fleur made a snapping sound.

"Look, I said I was sorry, besides it'll grow back," Hermione didn't even pay attention as she said it. Her mind was too focused on perfecting the new charm she was introduced to in class today. But the result, as seen with the leaves swooshed off in every direction. This had only meant she didn't master the spell and that aggravated her to her core. Hermione's mind nudged her to get back to work, so she turned, and walked away.

"What's her problem anyways?" Hermione thought, it is only a piece of hair! She freaked out like she lost her mind. Better get back to practicing on my spell.

"'ow _dare_ you turn your back on moi!" Fleur's mind raced with rage as she drew her wand.

"Accio!"

Hermione felt the scarf around her loosening and unfastening itself from her neck. It fell off as she turned back. She tried to catch the warm fabric but it was already in the hands of the girl with silvery blond hair.

"Give it back!" She spat, but the blond just shrugged.

"What a …" Hermione filtered her mind.

"You take somet'ing from moi, and I take somet'ing from you. It iz only fair zat vay, non?"

"Bollocks," Hermione spat as she upped her wand dangerously so now it pointed straight at Fleur.

The two witches exchanged icy cold glances.

"Alright, if zis iz ze vay you vant to play it out," Fleur raised her wand in response respectively. She eyed the girl dangerously from head to toe. It was rather interesting that she felt like she had seen this girl somewhere, maybe at the welcoming ceremony. Was this girl in the crowd as their carriage landed? Or was it somewhere else… She just looked so familiar in a sense. The memory was like a message in the bottle floating somewhere out in the open ocean. Either way, Fleur focused on the girl with her wand, ready to block any hexes coming her way.

They posed there like two copper statues, both unmoving. It was as if a wrong move from either one, she would end up six feet under. Hermione's eyes narrowed as she obscured any other external distractions and focused herself completely on Fleur. Both Fleur and Hermione was far too engaged in the unexpected duel, neither of them noticed the person that stepped behind them.

"Hermione Granger what do you think you are doing?" The voice trailed from behind.

Hermione's head jerked up as she heard a familiar, discerningly cold voice called out to her. She quickly turned to meet narrow accusing eyes. Few sweat drops formed as her heart raced at top speed. She was in deep trouble.

"Professor Snape…"She mouthed in utter petrifaction unable to move or do anything. Surely this was in school, and magic was permitted on campus but not in between classes. Her charms class had ended about an hour ago, and she used the time in between to practice her newly acquired knowledge. That's why she came to somewhere so remotely desolate. She had not expected the girl or anyone to be there.

But, the thing on hand was the way they both had their wands up looked like more of a duel than friendly magic usage. A duel was forbidden without the supervision of at least professor or someone of authority. And even if that was the case, they are only allowed in the Duelling Chamber, where students practiced. And besides…this unknown person in strange light blue uniform could be anyone…

Anyone… Hermione thought again, and then it crossed her mind, -

- "A minion of the Dark Lord…."

Snape eyed both of them suspiciously. Seeing that their wands are still out and pointed at each other, in a way only explainable if the two were going to fight to death Snape squinted, his mind going through the list of punishments. His mind was thousands of miles away when Fleur opened her mouth.

Hermione's mind racing, "Oh shit…She's going to report me… She must be a death eater." Her eyes burnt with utter hatred.

"Professor, I vas jeust… teac'ing 'Ermione ze vay ve duel in Beauxbatons, per'aps it vas rash of me," Fleur said as she lowered her wand also. The girl's name escaped through her lips in a rich throaty tune. Hermione…that name sounds familiar too. There was a hazy image in Fleur's mind which refused to clear itself. But even if did, Fleur still wasn't sure if she could really put her finger on who this girl is, and where they had met before.

Hermione whimpered and looked up at Fleur as her name was called out. What came out of the French girl's mouth has surprised her. But what surprised her more was the sudden reorganization of her name being called out in distinctive French pronunciations, but then again, it could've been just a generic reorganization. It wasn't the first time Hermione had heard someone speak her name with a heavy French accent.

But… Hermione's mind paused.

She tried hard to think but where she had heard it the first time. But it was a faded memory locked buried some deep within the ungodly amount of books. And it seems she had lost the key.

Snape glared at the French witch noticing for the first time that she was not a student of Hogwarts. "Well, Ms…"

"Delacour, Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons" She added for him cordially and extended her hand.

Snape kept his arms crossed in font of his chest. "Well, Ms. Delacour, there are rules to be respected. You are welcomed at Hogwarts but limits still apply, and as for you Miss Granger" He stressed on Hermione's last name. "Should've told you that any use of magic between classes is prohibited, and Duelling without supervision is especially prohibited. And you shall be punish…"

"Non, she 'as told me, but I didn't listeen, I inzizted," Fleur cut in and quickly glanced at Hermione who was now more relaxed.

"I am truly sorry Professor Snape, it was my fault too because I was too fascinated by…Fleur's…" Hermione looked at the girl who stood before her. She had hoped that her brain had picked up something off of the girl so she could use to describe what she was fascinated by. As she had managed out the first part of her explanations out fine, but as soon as she looked at Fleur something changed.

_She is so beautiful_

She couldn't choose which part of Fleur she had found fascinating. The girl was breathtaking, with her icy blue eyes and silvery blond hair, which now had a loose strand hanging out. Hermione felt guilty. She felt as if she had defaced a masterpiece of a portrait by carelessly spilling paint over it or adding an extra stroke.

"I vas showing 'Ermione my vand," Fleur quickly added after seeing Hermione had faltered on her sentence.

"Yes, She was showing me my wand…I mean her wand," Hermione mumbled, her face flushed with a mixed combination of joy, fear, anger, and anticipation.

Snape looked convinced enough. "Very well," He fidgeted, "But no duelling. Have a good day," Before walking away, Snape even managed too loosen up his frown and send a creepy smile at Fleur, which made the French witch cringe.

The two young witches stood there and waited for the sounds of Snape's footsteps to fade into the distance.

"Phew…that was close…" Hermione let out a breath of relief. She was overtaken by joy to see Fleur as that unreasonable person she had met about ten minutes ago. While her heart still raced like a speeding arrow, she wasn't sure why she was still nervous, Snape was gone and she was alone…with…Fleur…

"Do you have any idea what could've happened there if…if you didn't save me." She carried out excitedly trying to override the apparent anxiety with a few jumps.

Fleur smiled when she saw Hermione hopping around with happiness. "It vas no problem, 'Ermione, it vas a pleazure," Fleur replied sounding equally delighted. And eyed the girl with some curiosity, her heart told her she had know this girl who stood before her. She looked into those soft brown eyes for the answer to the twisted riddle but it offered her no insight except…

_She looks so cute when she's nervous._

They stared at each other; paradoxically both knew what they wanted to say, but neither knew how to ask.

"'Ave ve met before?"- "Have we met before?"

They asked and laughed in unison.

"'Ermione…"

All of a sudden the wind picked up again and the strand of unevenly cut hair blew into Fleur's sight. The other part that hung loose reminded Fleur of what the girl had done and how stubborn she was to put out even a simple sincere apology. Fleur's gaze became icy again. How dare she? No one had ever been excuse for acting rude in front of her and she wasn't about to make an exception. If she had positive opinions of this girl before that was a mistake.

_Even if she's… _

Fleur stopped herself from thinking too far and began once more, "'Ermione,"

"I only intendid on zaving moi, so don't be too flattered." Fleur stated dispassionately as she turned to leave.

The joyous look on Hermione's face faded. She watched as the other girl took off, Leaving her alone in the empty garden. She didn't feel anger, only a sense of disappointment. She frowned. This had been her fault from the beginning, if she hadn't been so…_eager_ perfecting the new spell she learnt she wouldn't be in this mess. She really wished she could start all over…and besides Fleur did save her from getting into trouble.

"But how am I going to see her again if she hates my guts?! And I still think she is overreacting about the hair…Shut up Hermione, this was your fault to begin with…"

As she realised she'll probably never talk or see Fleur again, her heart went limp against her ribcage.

"zis isn't over, 'Ermione,"

Hermione heard the bellowing wind and grinned.


	3. Chapter 3

**Muggles Call it Fate**

By the time Fleur walked back to the Beauxbatons carriage, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon. The little warmth she accumulated this morning was wearing off rapidly. She shivered bitterly as the unusually cold autumn wind enviously scraped against her pale cheeks. It had never been this damp, it was beginning to feel like someone had turned the world upside down, water pouring freely from the inverted ocean that is now the sky. Or at least she had not experienced horrid weather such as here in Britain. She hugged her arms around herself, wondering if she should cast a spell to deviate her from the cold.

She reached for her wand with her right hand, only to find her knuckles red and stiff. She winced as she tried to move the fingers, and then remembered how focused she was during the almost-duel; her hand was firmly enclosed around the wand, squeezing out any air that could be trapped in her tight fist. She held onto the wand with what seemed to be like her dear life. But that was when she noticed something warm wrapped around her left hand. The fabric had felt coarse against her delicate skin, but never the less kept her hand from going numb from the unusual freezing weather. Then she remembered. This was Hermione's scarf…which she stole…_with a reason_?

She looked at the lengthy knitted scarf, and noted that it was indeed very comfortable to wear in such weather conditions. Back in Southern France, well at least in Beauxbatons it was like spring all the time and flowers bloomed all year round so there wasn't a need for things like this. Fleur considered keeping the scarf, but then again…there was really no need for it, except it reminded her of the bothersome brunette.

If the girl wasn't going to respect Fleur, why should she respect her in return?

"Fleur, there you are." Called out the familiar voice whose owner she had spent looking for all afternoon.

"Where were you all morning?!" She snapped at her little sister.

"Around," Gabrielle faced Fleur and stated matter-of-factly. Which was true, she was around the campus all day with a new found friend (who surprisingly spoke French on a very fluent level). And much more to her surprise she had enjoyed their company very much.

"Who with?" Fleur raised an eyebrow.

"A friend," Came Gabrielle's simple reply.

"Is this friend a 'she' or a 'he'?"

"Ah, Fleur, must I report everything I did to you?" Gabrielle protested out of utter frustration. Fleur can be so overprotective at times, and her parents too.

_Oh well, the benefits of being the youngest, think about happy thoughts…_

"Besides, I'm not doing anything mischievous, unlike someone," Gabrielle said with a wide knowing grin.

"Don't you start!" Fleur commanded powerlessly, as her mind travelled back to a few months ago, where her sister had caught her in a seemingly compromising situation with another girl, who had came to Fleur for some help. However what happened still remained a mystery in Fleur's mind.

"Heh, secret is safe with me, I won't tell Mom and Dad,"

"That is no secret! You are just young and silly to think that, she just needed help with the broken zipper and it happened to be the damn thing on her skirt, and it is not my fault that it snapped and I ended up on my bed bringing her on top of me in the process," Fleur finished in one breath.

"Uh huh, how very descriptive, keep going I want to know what happens next," Gabrielle smirked.

"And…GABRIELLE!" Fleur screamed, this was the least she needed right now.

"I'M RIGHT HERE! So no need to yell, geesh…"

Gabrielle rolled her eyes and examined her sister. She wondered why Fleur sounded so…agitated. Fleur rarely acted like this at her, usually when she brought up this joke Fleur would've just laughed it off with her. Well, including the few exceptions when Gabrielle would see Fleur return from a long day from classes or horrible dates. She examined her sister further. Her eyes travelling from head to toe.

For starters, Fleur was frowning as her hair blew in the wind. Each silvery strands heavy with dread and disorganization. This was far from what Gabrielle was used to. Fleur's hair was always perfect like the rest of her. And in her hands she held a long red and yellow striped scarf.

_Messy hair? Fleur? Impossible…Unless…_

Then it crossed Gabrielle's mind, had Fleur been snogging somebody? That wasn't possible since Fleur was picky with her choices in men, and did not just snog anyone she just met. Is it, or were her eyes playing tricks on her.

"Where have you been?" Gabrielle asked with a devious smirk on her face.

"Looking for you all morning!" Fleur snapped back.

Is that so? Where did you get the scarf? And your hair is all messy, have you been- Gabrielle wanted to ask, but her sister is definitely not in the mood to be humoured. "Madam Maxime is waiting for you in her office. Something about the tournament," Gabrielle shrugged.

"Fine," Fleur motioned for her sister to get in the carriage with her.

"Er, on second thought I have something more important to do. I'll be back. And you might want to fix your hair-" She yelled as she ran off in the other direction.

"Gabrielle!" Fleur called after her. But it was useless, if Gabrielle had felt like doing something there was no way of stopping her. It was watching her run off or watching her sneak out later. Hopeless…

"One of these days, I'll have to send her back to Mother and Father," Fleur muttered as she entered the carriage.

Fleur stood in front of the gold framed full length mirror located in her room. For the first time she got a look at the damage done on her hair. She shrugged to herself after she saw the reflection.

It was better than what Fleur had expected.

"Nothing a simple spell won't repair," She said to her reflection and twirled her wand, giving it a tap. Immediately the choppy strand was pinned and under control. A smile appeared on her face, satisfied with her work, as Hermione's voice rang in her head. The table had turned in her mind.

"Look, I said I was sorry, besides it'll grow back," The brunette's voice repeated itself once and again.

_What if I was overreacting?_

Her eyes travelled on her grand mattress. On top of the butterfly blue covers lay Hermione's lengthy scarf.

And there was no real reason for me to take it…But then I'll have to find an opportunity to return it. I wish I had a chance to blurt out an apology for overreacting…

She frowned. I owe her an apology. And I'll need to get her scarf back to her one way or another.

_But that'll only prove that she had been right all along…_

Pfft, she wishes….

Fleur narrowed her eyes and looked at her reflection again. "Fleur Delacour, you don't owe anyone anything, especially not that bothersome, good for nothing bird-nest head." She reassured herself, her eyes twinkled back brightly.

"Almost perfect," with one last look at herself in the mirror she walked out of her room.

"Madam you called for me?" Fleur greeted in French, upon entering the office of Madam Maxime. The room was huge, and costly decorated in gold and royal blue, with sets of gigantic furniture that was proportional to the half giant headmistress.

"Yes, Fleur come right in," Olympe Maxime looked up from the piles paperwork which required her undivided attention. Fleur stood in front of her anticipating for further instructions.

"Have a seat dear, this might take some time," The half giant announced.

She paused as Fleur managed herself on one of the gigantic settee. "Well you surely know that you will be our school's champion right?"

"Yes, I'm well aware of that." Fleur replied her eyes burning with ambition. There was no one that could do the job better and she knew it; the others knew it too. She would excel as she always had. Fleur grinned, she could almost feel the trophy in her hand effortlessly, and once and for all she would prove to people, that Fleur Delacour was more than a pretty face.

"Good," Madam Maxime mouthed, "Then it would be my duty to introduce you to your possible opponents in the competition," Fleur nodded as Madam Maxime went on about Viktor Krum, the most prominent student of Durmstrang academy, pride and joy of Igor Karkaroff. Not only was he the youngest seeker of professional Quidditch he was also built like a bear. His strength lies with hexes, and was a possible candidate user of Dark Magic.

"We can only hope that he devotes too much time in Quidditch to spend time studying hexes." Madam Maxime finished.

"And for Hogwarts?"

"According to sources, there is a heated debate between the houses for the Hogwarts Champion. Most say it would be Cedric Diggory, a Hufflepuff boy."

"That should be easy," Fleur said carelessly. Hufflepuffs are known to be the most harmless of all the Hogwarts houses, or at least that's what she had heard.

"BUT!" Madam Maxime raised her voice, making Fleur flinch.

"You MUST NOT forget that Hogwarts has its secret weapons. The three Gryffindor, including the boy who lived, who you should consider your immediate enemy,"

"But he can't compete! He is not of age." Fleur argued.

"He was not supposed to live either, things aren't ever for certain," Madam Maxime eyed Fleur carefully. "Anything can happen, do not underestimate your opponents. And as for Harry, besides his bravery, he has two close companions, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger,"

"'Ermione?!" Fleur stared at the half giant as if she heard wrong.

"Yes, the one and only Hermione Granger." Madam Maxime examined her prized pupil. "Judging by your response, I trust you know each other."

"I bumped into-"

Before Fleur could finish her sentence and complain, her teacher cut in joyously.

"That is wonderful!" Madam Maxime cried out. "This means we have one less thing to worry about."

"What?!"

"Strategically speaking, keep your friends close and your enemies closer." Madam Maxime nodded as Fleur shook her head in horror.

"You mean…"

"Yes, undermine your opponents by getting to know them better. Do whatever you need to, winning is the ultimate goal." Madam Maxime justified.

This is horrible. Madam Maxime wants her to be 'friends' with Hermione?!

Did she hear that right? And if she did, she felt like she was about to do the sickest thing in the world. The fact that she'll have to carry ulterior motives, while trying to get to Harry Potter through Hermione was just sickening… She'll rather just seduce another champion and get everything she needed to know out of them that way. It would be much easier-

"Can't I just 'be friends' with Harry instead? He'll be easier to bypass-" Fleur asked with her fingers crossed.

"Quick thinking, unfortunately, that would be too obvious." Madam Maxime replied shuffling through the piles of paperwork on her desk.

How is this NOT? This morning she hated Hermione's guts and now there are still trances of faint resentment towards the girl, just not nearly as intense as this morning. But, asking her to be friends with Hermione was too far of a stretch. And she was sure Hermione would feel the same towards her.

"But-", Fleur tried to object.

"My mind is made up, strategically this will benefit you and Beauxbatons, so if you please." Madam Maxime returned to the paperwork. "Close the door after you leave."

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Bwuaha.  
Thank you guys for all your wonderful reviews I appreciate it.

Special thanks to S.F who beta-ed this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Muggles call it Fate.**

Hermione shifted in her chair for the fifth time that hour and cursed under her breath while doing so, she has gotten through only half of the material she planned on covering that afternoon. She breathed out a sigh in desperation to relax as her mind then registered the six heavy boulders like text that lay piled and unmoved on the corner of her table. She sighed again.

Normally she would have finished her potions assignments and gone through half of her previews of upcoming classes, but today was different there was just something wrong - with the seat. She shifted again in the straight backed library chair, but was unable to find comfort. With everything that had happened lately the incident at the Quidditch World Cup, Death Eaters, and the return of Voldmort, Harry's potential safety…her mind raced and the usual bearable quiet chatters of students were now like heavy machinery, rampaging through her unstable state of mind breaking her last attempt to concentrate.

She frowned. She wished there was something she could do, at least about the irritating chatters. But unfortunately there was nothing she could do. Just like how blind and helpless everyone is to the return of 'He, whom shall not be named'. Sure Hermione could invest hours and hours reading up on potions and defence charms, and spells that would aid her friends in needy times but there are just so many charms to remember and so many people to watch out for.

She thought as a bitter smile crept up her face.

It felt as if each year at Hogwarts, the tunnel gets darker and deeper leading through the unexpecting path of destiny. And it would only get worse. She felt like a blinded bird with cemented wings, absolutely no way out. And the worst of all was, there wasn't a said obligation for her to contribute – it was simply in her nature, or she guessed in the nature of any true friendship to care and support each other like how she supported Harry and Ron.

. No-one voices it or asks her but the silent expectations make her duties crystal clear. Not that she was complaining or regretting, it was simply she was beginning to feel like she has reached a limit. She was 14 for Merlin's sake. Couldn't she enjoy the normalities of a 14 year old girl's life? Like only have to focus on school and finding love, or at least have an unjustified crush on an unsuspecting boy, then shyly telling him years after.

But her life was far from normal and simple pleasures, and she knows it. She knew it all along, long before she got the letter from Hogwarts, or when she met Harry and Ron, somehow deep inside she knew there was.

_No need wishing for it then._

She lowered her head and rested her chin on her arm, fixed her gaze on the half written parchment before her, trying to block out all that's around her. With quill in hand, eyes mirroring the page, she sat there motionless, blending into the lifelessness of the library at dusk, allowing her mind to drifting far away from troubles.

"'Mione! I knew you would be here," 

She jerked up like an overly excited spring coil and knocked over the pile of unread books on her table, earning her unwanted attention from the whole library. .

"You scared me Ron," She whispered harshly at him, trying to ignore glares from the rest of the room. She focused on Ron's face. "What is it?"

Her first instinct told her something was up. Her mind automatically generated the worst case scenario.

"Is Harry alright?"

"Why wouldn't he be? Gee Hermione you are so uptight, I'm just here telling you tonight is the grand dinner you don't want to be late, everyone is already there."

"What?" Hermione blinked twice.

"Durmstrang and this other school, but KRUM! Viktor Krum will be there! And knowing I'll be sitting in the same room with him for dinner. Golly!" Ron said keeping his voice barely within the range of a whisper. 

"Oh of course." Hermione slapped her forehead. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, two visiting schools that had arrived in this very morning, how could she forget the spectacular sight this morning? Durmstrang put on quite a show with the dark almost pirate like ship and Beauxbaton, with their horse drawn carriage and…

"_Delacour, Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons"_

Hermione shook her head as the voice repeated through her head causing her heart to turn a three sixty.

_**She**__ would be there…of course she would why wouldn't she? The last thing I need is to see that French snob. _

"You know what Ron, I'm not that hungry." She said as her stomach growled.

"But KRUM! THIS COULD BE ONCE IN A LIFE TIME EVENT!!" He screamed enthusiastically forgetting to whisper.

"Shh!" came the warning from the librarian and Hermione's eyes darted back to the books on the table.

"Oh Come on 'Mione! Charms and work can wait." He said as he helped Hermione with her books.

"It's okay I've already saw Krum at the Quidditch world cup," Then she turned serious. "AND IF YOU HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN, Death eaters have been regrouped by the return of 'you know who' on that same night! We'll never know when or where they might strike again, so we-I should prepare."

"Fine," Ron replied with a hurt look on his face and put down the books he gathered up just a second ago.

Hermione felt a pang of guilt as she realised she had just dumped all her pent up frustration and worry all on Ron – who with all the good intentions, and had troubled himself to call her to dinner.

"You know what, I'll race you!" Hermione said with a glint in her eyes and took off.

"Hey! That's not fair! What am I suppose to do with all your books?" Ron called after her.

'Now what am I doing here.' She thought as she sat in the Gryffindor table with her friends.

"I like to make an announcement," Dumbledore spoke from the podium. She listened but was interrupted by Ron's anticipating rant on Krum.

"Krum, when is he coming?" Ron leaned in and asked the table.

"Asking three times every minute isn't going to bring Krum here any sooner," replied Ginny, obviously annoyed at her brother's blinding worship of the Quidditch player. Hermione zoned back to what Dumbledore was saying.

"The TriWizard tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests, from each school a single student is selected to compete…"

Hermione looked over to Harry who seemed to be very entertained by what Dumbledore was saying.

"And trust me when I say these contests are not for the faint hearted, but more of that later," He paused briefly. "And now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons academy of magic," 

The door to the great hall was then opened. And that was all Hermione needed to hear as her eyes scanned the group of students in light blue silk robes. She blinked as the girls entered with their choreographed dance – the whole Hogwarts seemed to have been wowed, but she thought they are simply trying to hard with the entrance.

"Oh bloody hell!" exclaimed Ron with a gaping mouth, who seems to have temporally if not permanently forgotten the existence of Krum. Hermione looked over to Harry whose expression wasn't all that different from Ron's.

She exchanged looks with Ginny.

"Boys, they are so rude" she muttered all knowingly, less than impressed by their hormonal responses. She returned her attention to the Beauxbatons dancers just in time to see who she was waiting for, except she was accompanied by another girl, who was much shorter and younger, and who seemed to be her sister.

Hermione shifted her focus back on Fleur as the French witch gracefully and almost effortlessly glided into the Great Hall, perfecting every dance move as if she was a professional dancer. The whole room fell silent with admiration, no longer the jeers and rude comments from the male population of Hogwarts. They were all under Fleur's charms. She wondered about the looks on the boys' face now, but her gaze was transfixed on Fleur's elegant ballet and was reluctant to deviate away from the French Witch.

_No way__, she's way better than a professional dancer, or any dancer for that mattered._

Hermione concluded in her head as she felt the urgent need to turn her unimpressed look into an amazed and approving expression.

_Remember she's a snob!__ An airhead!_

Hermione's mind screamed, as Fleur bowed, the room was still silent with astonishment, as if waiting for the French Witch to disappear into thin air like a dream that she seemed to be.

Hermione's logical protest had proven itself to be utterly useless as Hermione's observant eyes lingered on Fleur for longer than they should.

_  
Is it just me or does it seems like she is looking for someone?_

Hermione thought as the French witch's icy blue eyes scanned the crowd.

And it didn't help one bit as Fleur's actively probing orbs stopped toward her direction. More precisely, Hermione dared to suspect, on her. Suddenly she felt as if the noises in the Great Hall were all drowning out, all it contained now was only Fleur and herself, and for a single second she felt an unexplainable force drawing her closer.

_No it can't possibly be. Why would she look at me? She probably hates my guts. After all she did make that loud and clear this afternoon. Then she wouldn't look at you! Urgh! Enough!_

Curiosity got the best of Hermione, to test her suspicions, Hermione sneaked a smile towards the front of the room; it wasn't like anyone was paying attention to her anyways.

Fleur smiled back, the room roared.

Hermione looked away, angry at herself for doing what she had just did, she didn't need Fleur's attention, or to have Fleur get the wrong idea that there could or would be any sort of positive social interaction between them in the future.

_She can be her self proclaimed high class snob. _She thought with an hmpf.

"Did you see that? She 'looked' at me?" Ron pointed out proudly.

"Don't give yourself too much credit Ronald; she was probably just looking for the nearest exit when she saw you." Ginny chimed in bursting her brother's bubble.

"Oh come on, she too looked at me, you saw right Harry?" Ron nodded toward his best friend.

Harry looked at Ron and nodded half-heartedly.

"'Mione?" Ron nodded at Hermione looking for the slightest assurance that somehow Fleur had looked at him.

"Does it really matter that much? So what if she looked at you briefly and so what if she didn't, it's not like she wants to date you or anything." Hermione managed to choke out between laughters.

"Well, I say it's a start!" Ron replied his jaw still hanging as he peered to the now sitting Fleur at the Ravenclaw table.

The rest of the introductions went by rather quickly. Durmstrang arrived, and Krum did eventually show up. Hermione was rather surprised that Ron didn't faint when he saw him, but was simply the first to cheer and inform everyone on the Bulgarian's heroic entrance. Dumbledore then explained the rules of the TriWizard Tournament, and it calmed Hermione's nerves when the headmaster explained that no one under 17 were to compete, which meant Harry was safe. Dinner was served shortly after and knowing everything seemed at least under some sort of control, Hermione allowed herself to relax and enjoy dinner like the rest of the Gryffindor table.

But at the Ravenclaw table things were very different, other than the different seating arrangement to accommodate the guests. A certain French Witch hasn't quite touched the food on her plate. For Fleur had busied herself trying to grab the attention of Hermione, whom seemed to ignore her after their thirty second of what it felt like to Fleur, a 'soul exchange'. Eyes are the windows to the soul, or so it has been said, and that thirty seconds felt like it could've told Fleur everything she needed to know about the girl, except there was no way to interpret or translate into these feelings into words.

"What's wrong Fleur?" Gabrielle chirped up in between sips of her soup.

"Nothing, eat your dinner."

"Er, more like you should eat YOUR dinner,"

"Gabrielle!" Fleur raised her voice.

"Fleur!" Gabrielle shouted back, and then examined her older sister. She seemed to be troubled about something. And the last thing she needed to hear was her little sister telling her what to do, but she knows Gabrielle will ask anyways. "I can tell something's on your mind, you can tell me," she added, but Fleur did not relax. "Unless it's really secretive! But you know how I like secrets!"

Fleur smiled at her little sister. Gabrielle always had a way to get on her nerves but cheer her up at the same time, even though they were almost ten years apart.

"Oh like that other time when you mistaken this plant for…"Gabrielle continued, which almost caused Fleur to plant her face permanently on the table. And did she mention Gabrielle had a knack for unconsciously embarrassing her sister by bringing up the most inappropriate topic in the most inappropriate time.

"THANK YOU GABRIELLE I'm quite RELAXED now!" Fleur squealed quickly in attempts to shut her sister up. The Beauxbatons representatives at the Ravenclaw table did not need to hear about her embarrassing poison ivy incident in Beauxbatons.

"ANYTIME!" Gabrielle replied with a big grin.

Fleur took in a deep breath looked over to Madam Maxim, who nodded at her.

_I am Fleur Delacour; I can __have anything I want. _

With that thought she got up from the Ravenclaw table and walked toward the unsuspecting target.


	5. Chapter 5

**Muggles Call It Fate**

On the other side of the vast dining hall, a certain Muggleborn witch was having a hard time educating a redheaded Pure-blooded wizard, about the cultural and social difference and similarities between neighbouring countries of Europe. The problem was started with a simple, "What's that!" by Ron, whom upon seeing the plates of food that did not normally grace the table of Hogwarts' Great Hall. One question led into another, eventually Hermione was made to explain more than what Ron could understand. Using the foreign dishes that were present on the table as an example, she indicated that food was cross-culturally universal yet distinct to their respective cultures. In fact, how they were prepared to how they were shared in social occasions present crucial information about the culture itself. Yet to her dismay and despite her efforts, the second youngest of the Weasley's had yet again failed to listen attentively, thus failed to extrapolate the streams of information coming from Hermione.

Instead, his jaw hung on to the rest of his skull like a suspension bridge and no sounds came out. His eyes blinked in rhyme with her words but when Hermione looked into his eyes for confirmation signs of brain activity, it was as dull as staring into an empty void of utter nothingness. So Hermione thought of a practical approach, 'learning by experience'.

"Why don't you just give them a try?" Hermione hinted at the foreign dishes.

"Working on it," Ron replied with a mouthful of potato, his forks and knives working together in actively removing another piece of chicken leg from the plate.

"I meant something foreign, like the Bouillabaisse," said Hermione.

"The what?" Ron looked up from his plate, his face utterly clueless.

"Never mind," replied Hermione sulking, the dish she had spent the past good twenty minutes explaining, but it appears that nothing had gone into Ron's brain. She sighed in frustration, and almost pity. But surprisingly she doesn't feel the pity for Ron, no. Ron was completely happy and content being who he is, and although he acknowledges that he might not be as smart as Hermione or as famous as Harry, yet surprisingly he does seem to be the happiest of the three.

There was a small nudge at her side which made Hermione snap out of her trance. She turned and stared right into the concerned eyes of Ginny.

"You okay?" Ginny asked after sensing that her friend was not in the best of moods.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be? The food was delicious, and I'm fine," Hermione smiled at Ginny who was less than half convinced, looked at her with the 'don't mind my stupid brother look'.

Hermione smiled, which to Ginny meant more than any word confrontation Hermione would have defended herself with. Hermione had been different this year, Ginny noted. Ever since this summer, the incident at the Quidditch World Cup, and the beginning of the school year, Hermione had been different, in a way withdrawing ever more into her own world, isolating herself in between the pages of her books. But when Ginny diligently question her about it, she would always assure Ginny that she was fine, and Ginny would pretend to nod off and believe her. Lately, this ongoing change in Hermione had festered to the point where Hermione would rarely been seen and sometimes miss dinner by hiding in the library. And now after some careful thinking, and despite the considerable amount of people with them in the great hall right now, she decided that she really needed to confront Hermione about her behaviour – it was more than unbearable to see her friend sink into isolation. It was now or never.

Ginny eyed Hermione again before whispering. "'Mione what exactly is going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've been different," Ginny blatantly pointed out her behaviours. "Ever since Quidditch World Cup…"

Hermione knew exactly where Ginny was getting at, down and ascending the spiralling stairs of Hermione's ribcage into her heart. The question was like a piercing hex put on her mercilessly. The recent avoidance of her friends and just the general avoidance of everything had everything to do with the recent panic about regrouping of Death Eaters, or at least that's what Hermione convinced herself to believe. Saving Harry and the world is her mission, and her reason, and for that it seems. She would give her everything.

But when it comes down to it, as she realised the avoidance has always been there with her. When she was still a child she would drown out the world with fairy-tales and books of another place another time, somewhere different. She would be travelling from one world to the other through the medium of books and stories. As long as she had a book, she had a vessel for travelling, perhaps it was because she was searching or her own story, perhaps it was nothing more. Even if the neighbours' kids were around to play games, she felt indifferent. As she gradually grew up and eventually entered Hogwarts, she walked alone along the pavements of the corridor, ate lunch alone for the first few months before meeting coincidentally with Ron and Harry, but she didn't mind. Hermione had her wisdom and knowledge of things way beyond her age. It gained her recognition, but contrary to the envious assumptions by her peers of her being a know-it-all, overachiever. Back then, she wouldn't have cared-less. It was the benefits of minimum social interaction in addition with the curiosity for the certain. As she remembered and concluded over the years there was definitely a reason why she operated well on the academic level correlating to her personality, if not direct cause and effect.

Grades, academic excellence, were the product of a habit, which in turn compensated for whatever was lost in the process. Overtime that compensation became a booster, a value system that is precisely connected to the real world. That was why her worst fear as portrayed by the Boggart, was the failure of all subjects – if she failed at the only thing she was good at. What more is there to Hermione Granger?

_Saving the world-_

It was also a simple, technical and cold reason that paradoxically settled her mind more than it bothered it. It was a reason, logical enough that made her refuse to acknowledge that deep within her beating heart, something critical was being refused. And with every in take of breath Hermione know that something is missing. And that something is not neatly stacked on the shelves of a library somewhere, or stored in a jar in the potion closet. Nor can it be found by endless working and researching, there was just no certainty. And by indulging herself in work, she is not constantly reminded of the void in her heart, or other complexities within the world. Complexities without absolute answers, like the depth of the human heart, or abstraction of feelings, to simply put it, those things; the uncertainties scared her.

"It's probably nothing, I… it's just I've been too tired from the late night readings-

Guilt started to rush in; there were no words to sooth the feeling inside her heart. She knew that Ginny was just worried about her but there was no possible way to answer Ginny's question truthfully without exposing the side of herself that no one but her knows. Hermione did consider telling Ginny about her, but she was sure the quick tempered redhead would either be offended or be convinced that there was something incurably wrong with her, either way the friendship would be disturbed.

She shielded her face with her fingers, and her thumbs rubbing her temples, trying to rid herself of a major headache. "It's nothing really, I'm just tired." Hermione managed to choke out again, this time raising her voice above a whisper.

And after a brief second of confirmation, she decided that Ginny had let the topic go, temporarily at least. She silently thanked Merlin- her headache receded. She lifted her head up and the Gryffindor table was red, yellow, and cheery as usual. Just the way it should be.

Out of nowhere, Hermione felt a light pressure being applied on her, almost like a usual tap on the shoulder, but whom ever wished to grab her attention was careful with their touch, for the tap was feather light, and everything but insensitive. But almost immediately, as if seeing something extraordinary miracle had happened right on her shoulder. The whole Gryffindor table's loud chatters hushed into below a whisper. Like a group of pack oriented animals looking out for predatory danger, they watched Hermione with caution.

"What?" Hermione asked eyeing everyone around her, she was sure it couldn't be her that caused the amazement. But the Gryffindor table gave no reply. She looked at Ron who was facing her; his eyes stared directly at her direction but not at her.

Sneakily from behind came the soft sound of someone clearing their throat, followed quickly by a voice too distinct to not be remembered. Hermione felt a steady increase of body heat as the person inched closer to where she was sitting. Her mind automatically went into defensive mode and came up with countless possibilities on why _she_ was here, yet none of her assumptions sounded very logical in her brain. If she was retaliating – like _she_ promised she will, she would've done it long before, there were plenty of time to do so between this morning and the feast. But then again, what if her previous assumption was right and _she_ really smiled back at Hermione. Could it possibly be that the French witch was bipolar and forgotten to take her medications?

"Pardon Moi," Fleur delivered politely to those of the Gryffindor table. "Don't mind me," she added, hinting that they should just resume to their conversation as if she was not there at all. But the Gryffindors just stared at her, though in two very different manners. The male population gazed at her with deep longing, ready to give a hand or heart to Fleur if she asked, while the female population eyed her with suspicion and envy. All Fleur could think was the irony of the situation, she found herself sympathizing with the girls – if she had a choice she wouldn't want to be here either. She was forced to attempt this by Madam Maxime's good will, to go behind enemy lines and trick any information she could out of Hermione about the tournament, but given if she had the choice she would happily run the other direction than to be this close to the girl who desperately needed beautification charms. It wasn't because that Fleur disliked Hermione, despite the minor resentment Fleur still held from this morning, the brunette was insensitive enough to not to give her a sincere apology, but that could all be resolved by some sort of light hearted revenge that Fleur could sought out after. But this, 'mission' assigned by her headmistress evoked a feeling of bad omen that stirred. No matter how she justified it, it just didn't seem right. But standing there inches away from Hermione, she could feel Madam Maxime's eyes on her, there was no turning back. Fleur pushed that thought away and wasted no time to continue.

"Mademoiselle Granger may I speak with you?" Fleur inputted casually, but one could hear from her voice full of pride and confidence, it was a polite statement of request and not a suggestion.

Upon announcing her intentions verbally, the Gryffindor table boys, Ron and Harry included, gasped, and their eyes planted on Hermione in disbelief. All of them wondering what Fleur could possibly want with her. While the Gryffindor girls, Ginny included studied the two carefully, their eyes travelled from Fleur to Hermione and back from Hermione to Fleur. As if trying to find any sort of a faint connection that was possibly between them. When the Gryffindor girls failed to detect anything out of the ordinary, they simply turned their attention back to themselves and their mindless chatters. However, Ginny watched on, prying the situation in hopes of finding something between her best friend and this foreign girl.

Hermione almost choked upon hearing Fleur's stated intentions, and almost choked again upon hearing Ron's pathetic attempt in the art of conversation.

"Um, I could talk ya, and show you around…" Ron mumbled then trailed off.

But Fleur only giggled, "Merci Monsieur for your offer, but I only need to speak with 'Ermione."

_She wants to talk…only to me?_

_Oh could my day get better? First interrogated by Ginny, now I have to deal with this bipolar snob._

"What is there to talk about?" Hermione replied icily, not even bothering with turning to look at Fleur. It was one thing that there was obviously nothing to talk about with the French witch, another that Hermione's headache was back in full force, but this time it feels it worsened by tenfold. She could feel the veins on her forehead drumming against her skull.

For the second time that day, the Delacour's ego and pride was blatantly insulted. Enraged, Fleur considered storming off somewhere and curse Hermione to oblivion, but she was a woman on a mission, determined to win. And the British's witch's hostile attitude was helping Fleur to feel less guilty about what she was actually doing.

_Consider this as revenge._

Fleur narrowed her eyes and tried again. This time she lowered herself to Hermione's seated level, her face inches away from Hermione's making the conversation only audible to them.

"'Ermione, I know there 'as been some miscommunication between you and me, but I was 'oping if I could talk to you," Fleur whispered softly into Hermione's ear, "in private."

Hermione's body stiffened as her personal comfort zone was invaded by Fleur.

_Merlins, is there NO end to this?_

Hermione thought her headache was bad. But headache plus someone who just won't leave you alone is just lethal - Hermione decided there was probably no end to this Fleur annoyance if she did not put an end to it.

Finally, she turned to face Fleur. "Alright, let's hear what you have to say."

A secretive smirk appeared on the French witch's face as she waited for Hermione.

Ginny's hand grasped onto Hermione's wrist tightly.

"I won't be long," Hermione told Ginny.

"It's not that," said Ginny sternly. "Be careful," She said to Hermione seriously. "I don't trust that girl."

Hermione wanted to say that she didn't either, for she still hasn't figured out what Fleur wanted. But since the other girl was standing there, just a few feet away any statement of the sort was diminished into a reassuring smile to Ginny before getting up and following Fleur out of the Great Hall.

"Nothing I can't handle," Hermione breathed out lightly.

…

The entire walk from the castle to outside corridor was done in silence, which rather confused Hermione. The other girl said she had wanted to 'talk', and by talking she had expected some sort of word exchange, in English, or in this case. Hermione would speak in English, and Fleur would respond in some sort of fragmented English laced with a heavy French accent.

Yet there was not a single sound, or as Hermione observed a single sign of the French girl stopping somewhere any time soon. But Hermione didn't mind, the cool autumn wind was acting as a temporary remedy for her throbbing headache. She had felt immediately better after stepping out of the overheated Great Hall, and into the deserted night. Under the moonlight the heatless autumn wind blew, and Fleur's hair shimmered in the moonlight like silver silk strands. Somehow they allured Hermione to keep her mouth shut and keep trailing behind the girl.

Before she knew it, they had left the castle grounds all together and was situated somewhere near the forest. Fleur sure had redefined the word of 'privacy' by choosing an extremely secluded corner in the middle of nowhere.

But as her mind cleared and the situation became apparent, that she, Hermione Granger, was standing but a few feet from Fleur Delacour, not mentioning alone, made her want to turn back right now or at least stop walking. This time, at night, in the middle of nowhere was beginning to feel like a very bad idea. She rethought the whole situation again, Fleur had clearly said she had something to say to her but so far the trip had been silent, so she assumed the conversation would include some secretive exchange that was only appropriate to the both of them. Possibly regarding to what happened this afternoon.

Hermione stopped all together, "I think this is far enough from the castle, if you got something to say then shoot, I'm not walking all the way to France," she stated.

Fleur couldn't help but smirk at her remark. She knew Hermione was being sarcastic but she couldn't help being amused. "Who said I'm taking you to France," she thought.

"Alright zen, I guess no one would be 'ere," Fleur paused. "I brought you here to tell you…"

Hermione tried to focus her attention on what Fleur was saying but it was either Fleur's English was so bad that she couldn't understand any word that came out of her mouth or there was something wrong with her head. She picked up something about "truce" and "agreed?" but up to that point Hermione's head began to spin. Her vision was hazy and it seemed Fleur had successfully divided herself into two then doubled herself into four. The world in her eyes contorted into swirls. She closed her eyes, but it didn't help. Her head hurts and she had a feeling she was going to faint any second.

"'Ermione what do you think?"

"Damn it," Hermione groaned holding her head.

"Where you even listening?" Fleur was loosing her temper. She had it, this girl was impossible. This mission was impossible. She was sure she could win the tri-Wizard tournament without this girl's help. Madam Maxime should've had more confidences in her abilities. "Fine, you silly girl, zis will be ze last time I'll ever talk to you." Fleur turned to leave, but behind her there was a loud thud.

"What iz that silly girl up to now?" Fleur thought outloud. She turned and in the dimmed moonlight, Hermione was nowhere to be found. "Mon Dieu! Where did she go?"

Without another thought, Fleur rushed over to where Hermione was standing just a second ago and found the girl lying on the ground unconscious.

"'Ermione don't try to scare me, I don't buy it." She stared at the girl on the ground. The truth was Fleur was getting a little freaked out by this, the fact that Hermione was on the ground and her face pale as the moonlight.

"'Ermione," Fleur called out again.

But after a few second of calling out Hermione's name, the other girl failed to respond Fleur grew scared and suspected that there was actually something wrong. Without wasting another second on the clock, Fleur rushed to her side. She planted two fingers on the girl's neck and felt for a pulse. But as soon as she touched Hermione, she noted that the girl was burning up from what it seemed to be a very high fever.

"Oh shit," exclaimed Fleur. They were at least a good half an hour away from the castle, half an hour that's way too long. And she couldn't leave Hermione in the middle of nowhere while she ran back to get help. And getting help was out of the question, the Gryffindors already thought she was suspicious. If she brought back an unconscious Hermione they would probably point the finger at her for poisoning, hexing, or trying to kill the poor girl. What to do…

Fleur eyed her surroundings. Suddenly out of the corner of her eyes spotted a giant hut.

_OF COURSE!_

Hagrid's hut. How could she be so stupid? The Beauxbatons carriage was parked within ten minutes of Hagrid's hut. And the simple explanation for even walking this way was it was the only way she knew how to get in and out of the castle.

She turned to the unconscious Hermione on the grass, and placed her awkwardly on her own shoulders, and thought about attempting to piggyback Hermione like she had done with Gabrielle a dozen of times, however, those where under the conditions that Gabrielle was conscious.

Obviously not going to work here, only another way to approach this, Fleur only hoped that her arms were strong enough. Sure she had trained for the Tri-Wizard tournament but that was more of physical endurance and not weight training. Either way, without another hesitant thought, Fleur slid one arm under Hermione to support her upper body helping her into a sitting position, while the other arm started to lift her legs.

_Un, deux, trois…_

Hermione was lifted from the ground and into the arms of Fleur. Fleur looked down at Hermione, "'ang in there!"

Through the dead of night only the owls cooed occasionally, the dim moonlight lit the way for the part quarter-veela. By the time she got to the carriage and said the password, her arms were in the breaking point from strain of carrying Hermione. Ignoring the pain, Fleur rushed Hermione through the halls of the carriage and straight into her room and placed the unconsciously girl carefully on her bed. The white sheets rippled as Hermione was placed on the mattress. Fleur placed a hand on her forehead, the fever was still there.

"Damn it," She swore. She looked at Hermione, her blue eyes filled with pain and worry, she was clueless to what made Hermione sick, and was even more clueless to how to treat it.

"Noo, 'Ermione don't diee!" Fleur panicked. "Just wake up and I promise I won't strike revenge on you or ever hurt you and I forgive you for accidentally cutting off a piece of my hair, just don't die on me." Fleur pleaded in French, not even caring if the girl could understand or not. It was rather a verbal reimbursement for herself to stop panicking and start thinking.

Then it hit her, she could contact her personal physician in France and have him Apparate here in no time. She reached for her wand and opened up a communication portal to Monsieur Faucet – the doctor.

Within seconds several knocks could be heard coming from the front entrance of the carriage - a well dressed man in his late fifties was speedily called in.

"I'm so sorry to call you out this late but ma ami she's very sick."

"No need to apologize Mademoiselle Delacour, I'm a doctor – saving lives is my duty."

Fleur showed him to where Hermione was laying. The Doctor immediately got to work, leaving a fretted Fleur in a corner of the room watching.

"Did she drink or eat something out of the ordinary?"

"No, not that I can remember," She replied worried that the Doctor might not find out what's wrong with her.

"Okay that rules out of food poisoning. How about exposure to the cold,"

"Not that I know of…" Fleur's mind jogged memories of scenes where Hermione and her were fighting. "But…um…I think she might have," feeling guilty now for stealing the girl's scarf.

After some careful and detailed examination, with a reassuring smile the Doctor gave the diagnosis.

"It appears that she caught a nasty case of what Muggles would call a common Cold. Yes, it would appear so, but the case is worsened due to sleep debt and imbalanced diet, plus sudden exposure to cold, which made the immune system weak and the little nasty bug an easy chance to attack." The doctor continued to explain to Fleur, "I already administered some medication she should be better the next morning. And I shall be taking off." With that he disappeared with a pop, leaving Fleur alone with Hermione.

Fleur grabbed a chair and sat down beside Hermione, the younger girl was resting soundly. Fleur checked her temperature again, the fever receded, and her face had returned to a natural shade of pink. Fleur rested her chin on the edge of her bed, eyes still watching Hermione.

_This was going to be a long night. _

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AN: I think I'm kind of obsessed with House haha…gotta have a HP-verse medical emergency, wizards/witches do get sick too you know!


End file.
